


Make Me Act So Funny, Make Me Spend My Money

by kinetikatrue



Category: Hockey RPF, Los Angeles Kings RPF, Philadelphia Flyers RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Nonverbal Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9144865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinetikatrue/pseuds/kinetikatrue
Summary: Five times Mike doesn'tsay'I love you' - and one time he does.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [protect_rosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/protect_rosie/gifts).



> I maybe inverted your prompt a little, but I hope you like the results - and that you've been having a good holiday!
> 
> Title from _Chantilly Lace_ \- Big Bopper

1 Celebration

Jeff hadn't been expecting pie. Maybe beer - he's 19 going on 20, okay? - but not pie. And he likes it, sure, better than cake even, but he a) didn't think Richie knew that and b) hadn't been expecting birthday anything.

But Richie does love to confound people's expectations..

So, here they are, sitting at a scuffed linoleum table, with two pieces of it sitting between them, berries practically exploding out of the crust and ice cream slowly melting around it. And it's just the two of them, the rest of Team Canada back at the hotel...not having pie. Also, it's birthday pie, even though Jeff isn't going to turn 20 for almost two more weeks. 

Right in the middle of what will hopefully be a successful quest for WJC gold.

It's not a big-deal birthday, like 18 or 19, though it's still another step closer to the show. And he's kinda been expecting it to get forgotten in the middle of all that. He'd figured he could double-celebrate when it was all over: the last game of the tournament is only three days after his birthday. If they do do what they came to do, well, it'll be some celebration, that's for sure.

At least there isn't a candle or anything - no singing waitresses or restaurant birthday acts - just Richie saying, "Eat up," like he thinks Jeff maybe needs to be told.

"Hold your horses, jeez," Jeff says, because he's getting there; he just has to finish wrapping his brain around Richie up and making this sneak away from the hotel to eat birthday pie plan in the first place. He knew they were friends, but this is like next-level childhood besties shit. He's not gonna ask, though, 'cos he knows Richie, and Richie will totally just spin some bullshit about taking care of his favorite A. _Because he takes being a captain that seriously._

Yeah, right - but Jeff isn't gonna look a gift pie in the mouth...when he could just be shoving it into his.

Anyway, he's glad to be getting some time to just the two of them - it's been hard to come by, even with rooming with each other. Someone always wants to do something, and drag them into it. Just shooting the shit on the way here was kind of a gift, though no way is he telling Richie that. He may be Jeff's favorite, but he's an asshole, just like the rest of them. Which would also be why he's not admitting that he wouldn't want Richie to be any other way.

So, a bite of pie, and another - and pretty soon Richie will probably start bullshitting about _something_ \- and when it's all over, Jeff may just count it as one of his best birthdays ever.

2 Crutch

Jeff's kinda zoning out, staring at a car commercial on TV, when he hears a key turning in the lock on his front door. That doesn't leave a lot of suspects when whoever it is nudges the door open a moment later. And when they send it thudding against the wall, all signs point to Richie. So it probably shouldn't be surprising that he's standing there with a plastic shopping bag in each hand, looking tired but determined. Obviously, Jeff was going to see him at some point, what with how they live in the same apartment building. And are in and out of each other's places all the time. And stuff.

He just wasn't expecting him tonight, though, not with how Jeff isn't exactly up for any of their usual late-night activities - though, okay, the way the drugs are making him feel, he could probably do some mean deep-throating.

"Look at your sorry ass," Richie says, shaking his head as he steps inside and closes the door. 

Which, Jeff can't exactly argue with that, considering the state of the TV, and his runaway blanket and complete lack of Gatorade. Richie's on top of that, though, crossing to the couch, digging into one of his bags, and dropping a blue Gatorade onto Jeff's abs. Which is about when the TV decides to come back from commercial and start playing _The Notebook_ again. 

Richie looks over at the screen, gets an eyeful of the action, then turns back to ask, "what're you doing watching this shit?"

Jeff shrugs and says, "The couch ate the remote...and the TV's really far."

"Jesus," Richie says, shaking his head. "Can't leave you alone for a second." 

But he gets Jeff untangled from the blanket, finds the remote, and banishes Ryan Gosling from the TV, while all Jeff has to do is suck down Gatorade.

Richie gives him a considering look afterwards, then says, decisively, "Time for bed," in this voice that Jeff is, like, 100% sure isn't supposed to be sexily commanding, but, fuck. 

Also, fuck his fucking foot and the fucking meds. 

Which would be about when Richie reaches in to haul Jeff up off the couch and lands him against his chest. He complains about how heavy Jeff is - hell, he has a complaint for every step of the process - but he does it, hauls Jeff out of the living room, down the hall to his bedroom, over to his bed. Richie gets him out of his sock and shoe, makes him lift his hips awkwardly off the bed, balancing on his good foot, to get his pants off. And between all of that, under pretty much any other circumstance, Jeff's dick would be interested. But not tonight.

Instead, he lets Richie get the covers over him without trying to start anything, just watches while he lines even more bottles of the blue flavor up on the nightstand and settles Jeff's meds next to them. A little more digging in the shopping bag produces one of those wooden sticks with a hand-shaped scratcher at the end of it, like they sell in the Chinatown variety shops - which goes next to the meds and Gatorade and leaves Jeff wondering _did he just have one laying around, or…?_ And then there's a plush version of the team mascot bouncing off his forehead and landing next to Jeff on the bed...

And that gets past Jeff's fuzzy-headedness enough to make him say, "Jeez, what was that for?" It didn't actually hurt, or anything, but it's kinda ugly, and anyway the last time Jeff had any use for stuffed animals he was five.

Richie picks it back up, hefts it like it's a baseball or some shit, and then hurls it at the wall. When he's retrieved it and brought it back to Jeff, he says, "Stress relief, asshole," and grins, like he thinks that's funny.

Jeff tries to glare, but that's about as much use as any of his other attempts at, like, focused expressions, because these fucking meds - they're doing a number on him. Just like Richie's got his number. Now that it's an option, that furball is gonna see some abuse.

3 Champion

"You're fucking better than this," Richie slurs, waving the worse-for-wear Sports section in Jeff's direction as he takes another slug of JD straight from the bottle.

And Jeff knows what Richie's arguing against: all the sportswriters talking shit about Jeff for only getting a single point in the six games they took the series to. For not doing more, doing enough to get his team to the next round. They're calling him overrated and overpaid, saying he has more ego than skill - and that Holmgren shoulda traded him already, gotten them a real goalie and cut loose the dead weight. And Jeff knows they're wrong about his skills and about him not trying, but he can't argue that trying was enough for anything.

He tells Richie, "But I wasn't," because it's fucking true.

Richie comes right back with, "But you _are_ ," sounding belligerent as fuck about it; he gets that way sometimes when he's been drinking whiskey.

Jeff shrugs, because are they in the eastern conference semifinals? No - no, they are not. And while that's not entirely on Jeff, his playoffs record says he shoulda been able to get 'er done. Of course, Richie's probably saying the exact same thing about himself, even if the sports guys aren't ripping him half as badly because _he_ scored nearly a point per game. He always takes failure so personally. Like, if he just tried hard enough, he'd never lose a game.

It's a fucking team game.

So it's not just on Jeff, or Richie, or, hell, any of the rest of the team, but, well. "They're not wrong that we need a better goalie," he tells Richie, not that Richie's gonna care.

Which he doesn't, just comes right back with, "Well, fuck 'em for thinkin' tradin' you's worth the, the...the return," saying _return_ like it's a dirty word - and pulls Jeff in closer to his side, because the right kind of drunk Richie is a cuddly Richie. Which, to be fair, is actually one of Jeff's favorite versions of drunk Richie.

And it may just be the whiskey talking, but that, coming from Richie, is doing more to make Jeff feel better about things than anything else has since they got shown the door by the fucking Pens.

4 Candy

The first package - addressed to J.J. Richards - shows up two days after the news that he's out with a broken foot hits. It's pretty big, so Jeff's braced for it to be heavy, but when the delivery driver hands it over, it feels like it's mostly full of packing peanuts. The return address is Sea Isle.

He'll deal with that part later.

For now, he awkwardly shoves the box further into the house - scribbles a mostly illegible J Carter ( _ha, fucking ha, Richie - nobody changed their fucking name_ ) - and manages a not-too-surly thanks for the delivery guy. He stays standing at the front door while the guy walks back to his truck and drives off, trying to figure out what he's going to open the package with, that he won't have to go far to get. So, probably keys.

His car key does work to get the box open, and what's inside? Not packing peanuts, that's for sure.

It's filled with bags of caramel corn, as far as the eye can see, from Jeff's favorite place down the shore. And, like, that could be it, but Jeff doesn't think so, not considering how completely not on his nutrition plan the corn is, and where it came from. If Richie didn't include fudge, and maybe some salt water taffy, then Jeff doesn't know why. He's gonna have to file a complaint about the service.

Or not, because a layer or two of corn down, there're a couple boxes each of fudge and taffy.

Though Richie still needs talking to about how, yes, Jeff may be injured and pissed off, and endless bags of caramel corn do sound great, but that doesn't mean he gets to forget about his nutrition plan completely, no matter how much fun it would be to give the Jackets the finger like that. Because what would feel even better? That would be: getting traded again, to somewhere he actually wants to be. And injured but on the mend is less of a problem than 'lived on caramel corn and fudge while his foot healed'.

Still, he's not gonna get into it with Richie until after he's had a bag of the corn, because it's there and it's delicious, and he fucking wants to.

Though, maybe he has time to text Richie: _Trying to slow me down?_

 

5 Comfort

Married sex, Jeff thinks, is mostly not much different than not-married sex. Except for how there isn't any question that they'll do it whenever they need or want to, assuming they can. And that's mostly a change on Jeff's part - Mike had never had a problem making his needs known to Jeff.

Even if his usual method was to just up and say shit like 'how about you suck my dick', because he's a sensitive fucking asshole like that.

Not that Jeff isn't generally up for sucking Mike's dick. It's a good size: not _too_ long, but thick and uncut, and his lightly furred balls really complete the package. Jeff's into it, anyway.

Skin on skin is the big goal tonight, though - that feeling of connection you get when you basically surround yourself with another person, get lost in them, tune out all the ways the world outside sucks.

And, of course, Mike's going to town on Jeff's skin, taking advantage of the season being over to mark him up not just on top of his bruises, but also everywhere else. Jeff's into that too, as well as the feeling of Mike's dick sliding back and forth in his hand or the ridges of Mike's abs against Jeff's dick. But in this particular moment, Jeff's enjoying being sprawled on their bed, on his side, with Mike behind him, and Mike's dick sliding between his thighs, nudging up against Jeff''s own balls and dick, while Mike hits every bruise Jeff got against the Hawks. It's fucking amazing - a little rough, even a little painful, but it leaves Jeff feeling so goddamned alive, the way it lights him up inside.

It doesn't erase the hurt of losing - nothing but time can do that - but outside of hockey, this is one of his favorite things in the world, and it's starting to feel like it might at least begin to balance things out, remind him of what is his all the time.

Not that he ever remembers that it helps. No, Mike had to drag his sulking ass to bed this time, just like every other time he's worked his magic on Jeff. Which means Jeff has a lot of favor to return when he gets the chance.

 

+1 Loss

"Why the fuck wouldn't I love you?" Mike asks, practically spitting the words at Jeff. When Jeff's upset he turns into a sulky asshole, but Mike? Mike gets you where it hurts.

And it's been fucking hard to watch Mike struggle: to be the player he once was, to play up to the level he's being paid to, to be an asset of any kind. And to see that he can't keep up - and know that while they're both only 30, Jeff has somehow, despite all the injuries he's been sidelined by, managed to avoid taking the kind of damage that slows you down, robs you of your game. That Mike's probably played through some shit he shouldn't have - just like everybody does - and it's cost him. All while Jeff's continued to become a better, more experienced, more well-rounded player. Mike's hurting, in more ways than one.

"I dunno - because I took your team?" And Jeff doesn't really think Mike thinks this, but _he_ hasn't been able to stop thinking it. For all that the Kings weren't either of their teams the way the Flyers were, Mike had 'em first.

Mike laughs, sharp, shakes his head, says, "God, you are such an idiot," and pulls Jeff in against him. "Pretty much the entire time we've been together, things have sucked for one or both of us -"

"Except the Cups," Jeff puts in.

"Except those," Mike agrees. "But you think this is the thing that sucks that's going to be it?"

"Well, apparently I'm an idiot," Jeff says, "It's a goddamn big thing..."

"Yeah, but you're mine," Mike, "And that's even bigger."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Funny Feeling (The Words You Say Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012454) by [silkstocking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/pseuds/silkstocking)




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